Fighting Destiny
by sorree
Summary: This is the sequel to Finding Destiny. Dastan is trying to put an end to the menace called Hassansins… Finally here we are… it continues…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok here we go… long expected sequel to Finding Destiny is finally on the docket. Updates will probably be at irregular intervals because of RL, but whole plot is outlines. Thank you to those who didn't give up on this and pestered me into picking it up again, you know who you are. I hope this lives up to your expectations...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok here we go… long expected sequel to Finding Destiny is finally on the docket. Updates will probably be at irregular intervals because of RL, but whole plot is outlines. Thank you to those who didn't give up on this and pestered me into picking it up again, you know who you are. I hope this lives up to your expectations...**

**Early morning,**

Tamina awoke with a start, her eyes almost frantically searching the room. In her sleep she had felt a presence beside her… but now she couldn't see anyone… to calm her fast beating heart she decided to step out onto the balcony, even as her feet touched the cold marble tiles, her eye caught a silvery flash of movement on her pillows followed almost immediately by a metallic ring as the object hit the floor rolling a few feet away before tumbling to the side. Intrigued she rose and grabbed it. There resting on her palm was an intricately worked silver ring. _Where did it come from? It was too wide to fit her delicate fingers… It_ _seemed familiar_ but she couldn't quite place it… _Where had she seen it before?_

It was that inopportune moment her servant chose to come into her chambers to wake her, like she did every day. If she was surprised to find her already up and dressed, she didn't show it…

Instinctively Tamina's fingers had closed around the small objet and she clutched her discovery close to her chest to hide it. How would she, the High Priestess of Alamut, unmarried as she was, explain a gift coming from a man? _Wait, where was that coming from?_ Her thoughts rushed a million miles a minute. _She knew this ring, had seen it before… the Persian prince, Dastan… he wore it on his left hand… but what was it doing here? He must have gotten into her chambers during the night… again… but why leave it here? To show her his ability to get wherever he wanted? That no one was able to stop him?_ Anger seeped into her mind... _No, the man might be unnerving and brazen, but even he wouldn't dare to behave in such a way._ _But why then?_

Her confusion must have shown, because all of a sudden the concerned voice of her servant reached her ears, calling her back to reality.

"Princess, is everything all right?" The elderly woman looked at her with worried eyes.

"Yes it is."

"You must hurry mistress, the Council is already waiting for you …" the old woman said.

Hurriedly she skipped out of the door and once she crossed the threshold she broke into a run leaving her servant shaking her head at her strange behaviour. The princess had been very serious and disciplined since childhood so to see her storm out of a room like this then something very important must have happened.

Out of breath Tamina slid to a stop in front of the heavy wooden doors hosting the reunions of the Council. She took a deep breath trying to steady her erratic breathing and taking the minute it took to signal her arrival to the members of the reunion to compose her features. At a nod of her head the panels of the door opened slowly granting her access.

The guards expression had remained stoic, but once they had heard the clank indicating the door was closed they both looked at each other with a look of wonder, shrugging.

Inside the large chamber, every voice had stopped and every head had turned towards the High Priestess. Chin held high she stared at every single member of it before walking to her throne. As she moved toward it she could hear the murmurs resume behind her back. Her hands fisted tight to keep her composure when all she wanted was to confront the old men, the round metal band boring into her palm. Strangely the feel of it provided comfort…

Once seated; she faced the Council who turned silent again as her gaze wandered from face to face. A slight cough drew her attention to the oldest member.

"Princess, we convened today to discuss an alliance between Persia and Alamut. We think it best to bring the subject up now as long as the Persian delegation is still within our walls…"

Unsure as to how he should continue he fell silent. Usually at this point the princess would have interrupted him. Alliances were not her favourite subject of discussion. In fact whenever a member of the council broached the theme Tamina would rapidly beat them at their own game, because to them alliance meant marriage and she was nothing if not fiercely opposed to it.

Today seemed different though; no objection had come from the High Priestess. Encouraged by the lack of response he suggested the members bring forth their opinion on the subject. None of them noticed the far away look in the princess's eyes.

She'd very effectively blocked out the sound of the counsellor's voices to a buzzing in her ears. Her thoughts were twisted around the Persian's actions as her fingers were wrapped around the silver ring. _Why had he left it in her chambers? What were his intentions? Did he want to show her he wanted an alliance like the one she was sure the Council was going to suggest?_ She highly doubted it. From what she'd seen the Persian wasn't keen on politics unlike his older brother or the King. He seemed more like an act-first-talk-later kind of man, more like the middle brother… Tired by the churning in her head she decided, she needed an answer; _now!_ Jumping from her throne suddenly she made the men rise too, some of them looking rather shaken, as if they'd just woken. They looked around in astonishment trying to assess the situation, but before they could voice any protest the princess was gone.

It didn't take her long to get to the princes' chambers. Taking no time to knock she breezed in hoping to find him there. The room seemed unoccupied except for some weaponry and a bedroll carefully wrapped up. To make sure he wasn't there she even stepped out on the balcony. _No sign here either._

A cry made her attention shift to the sky. An eagle was drawing circles high above the palace, using the rising heat streaming up along the walls to fly almost effortlessly to its hunting height. Her gaze followed it for a moment before settling on a balcony high above her head. It took her a moment to realize it was her apartments. She stepped closer to the stony vertical wall. She couldn't make out any asperities that would allow a person to get up there from here, _but somehow the Persian did…_ her mind quipped. Intrigued she carefully moved nearer to the railing. Immediately the wind played with the strand of hair around her face. The drop was breath taking and made her anxiously grip the balustrade tighter.

How could a person willingly put themselves at risk by free climbing over such a precipice, not to mention getting still higher up… _Crazy Persian…_

With a huff she turned to enter the deserted apartments. Where else could the prince hide from her?


	3. Chapter 3

**A week later,**

The sunrays beat their unrelenting staccato onto the landscape, causing every living being to search refuge in the almost non existent shadows. A gecko, perched on a stone, was hoping for one last bite before the raising heat would force it to seek relief in its usual shelter, a mass of small rocks with crevices large enough to avoid the burning rays. Suddenly the sand dragon reared its ugly head. An intruder was approaching the protective lair. The sand kept drizzling down, causing miniature avalanches each time the hooves stomped it.

It had been days since horse and rider had stopped at the last oued/wadi replenished water reserves before entering the vast sands that would swallow them for a long time, forever if they weren't cautious enough.

The rider had only stopped long enough to give his mount some reprieve. He knew the days to come would be a hardship, but if he wanted to act rapidly, he had to take the shortest road towards his goal.

The valley of the slaves, hideout of cutthroats and other less appealing people. The region was generally avoided by merchants and even tax-collectors left it alone – too dangerous to risk lives in this inhospitable area. The only place where he could collect vital information to accomplish his self appointed task. Briefly he wondered how his father had reacted upon discovering his disobedience. If there was something King Sharaman didn't tolerate, it was disobeying orders; even his own family wasn't an exception. The ghost of a smile flickered across the beard eaten face. It disappeared rapidly as he sensed movement to his right. His hand flew to his shamshir, fingers immediately tightening around the hilt. Turning his head he caught glimpse of the retreating form of a gecko, but his gaze didn't stop there… something else caught his attention far in the distance… His grip on the reins tightened, stopping Aksh in his tracks. Rising on his stirrups, he tried to get a better look at the dark shapes rising in the distance…

Dark clouds cluttered together forming a large fast moving wall… a sand storm! Immediately he took in his surroundings searching for shelter. Being an experienced traveller, he knew he couldn't outrun the oncoming storm; he would only waste precious energy. At some distance he could distinguish what seemed to be a rocky outcrop. It would have to be sufficient… He directed his horse to the spot and after unsaddling it, made it lie down. The horse was well trained and it would remain by his side during the tempest. He fastened his covers to form a makeshift tent giving him and the horse enough space to breathe without inhaling the murderous sand. Even as he fastened the last knots to his improvised shelter, the wind kept increasing, lifting more and more grains of sand to use as projectiles. Sighing the rider made himself as comfortable as possible for the next hours, he knew this kind of natural phenomenon could last for hours or even days. So much for reaching the valley rapidly, he thought. With a sigh he let his fingers travel over the silky coat of his mount. His thoughts wandered to a different place and a different time, he hadn't been alone then… Closing his eyes he remembered… The dark flowing hair, the eyes, her full lips… And after he had unloaded his burden, she had shared hers with him. They had come to an understanding then, against all odds…

Outside the storm kept howling, rattling the tent, furious that he couldn't reach and extinguish the two beings hiding from him inside.

"And what have we got here?" a loud voice demanded invading his consciousness. He must have somehow dozed off during the storm… Jerking up his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Sensing his tension Aksh suddenly jumped up tangling both of them in the woollen fabric of the tent. As he finally managed to crawl out from underneath, he heard the whooshing sound of a throwing knife flying towards him making him throw himself backwards. The gleaming blade embedded itself in the sand right where he had been kneeling mere seconds ago. Looking up he could barely make out the silhouette of a rider against the blinding sun. Shielding his eyes, he distinguished a second rider farther away playing with a second knife. Instinctively his grip tightened again on his own shamshir.

"Oh! I wouldn't do that if I were you…"

Dastan's gaze flew back to the first man, scrutinizing him more closely. Instantly recognition flared inside his mind. Before him were the two men he'd been looking for. Maybe Ormazd was looking out for him after all…

"Have you ever heard of… "

"Yes, indeed I have Sheikh Amar…" Dastan answered cutting very effectively off the other man, leaving him with a puzzled look on his face.

"How do you know my name?" The expression morphed into a mask of mistrust.

"Well…" getting to his feet and dusting his breeches off the prince answered with a smirk on his lips. "Who hasn't heard of the famed Valley of the Slaves where Sheikh Amar rules over a horde of rebellious slaves?" With a slight bow towards the man he hid the amusement sparkling in his eyes. "And of, Seso, the famous Ngbaka, accompanying him…" his voice trailed off as he gauged the two men's reactions. It never hurt to stroke the camel's fur in the sense of its growth especially if one wanted to obtain something and he needed both men's help to achieve his self set goal.

"I've come to this place with the hope to offer you a very interesting deal…"

"Deal? What kind of deal?" Even if the tone was guarded Dastan could see the man's interest was piqued. "What do you, ragged traveller, have to offer that could be of any interest to me?" Expecting an answer he urged his horse toward the prince making it push against his chest.

"I can assure you I'm not without means…" The appraising look the sheikh had let skip over Aksh hadn't escaped Dastan. Seso too seemed to be observing it closely.

"Let's discuss this in a more comfortable place," the sheikh quipped turning his horse in direction of the valley. It took Dastan no time to saddle up and close the distance to the two men. The ride was made in silence till the sun declined.

That night Dastan allowed himself only short naps, not trusting the sheikh until the deal was concluded. This quest was too important to be thwarted by a dishonest entrepreneur.

The following sunrise found them already in the saddle and well on their way towards the famed valley. By noon they crossed the entry point flanked with ancient crumbling brick walls. Dastan couldn't help but remember the last time he strode through that gate. Tamina had tricked him then, leaving him to his fate. Fortunately for him the sheikh and his men had found him or he might have met a very different fate. Strangely even then he hadn't been angry at her … well not for long… She was clever, resourceful and feisty… A smile graced his lips as he thought back to the moment they had caught up to her. She'd been determined to fight her way out of the group of men encircling her until he rode up to her and asked her to hand over his sword and her precious dagger.

A sharp voice interrupted his musings: "You going to sit there the whole day?" He realized they'd arrived in the village and Sheikh Amar and Seso had already dismounted.

"Persians…" Amar shook his head, leaning toward Seso, he whispered: "Must have been in the sun for too long. We might get lucky… What?"

The look of disapproval on Seso's face was very clear.

"You know us entrepreneurs. We seize every opportunity. And this," gesturing to the prince, "is a great one…"

Both entered the sheikh's tent without delay soon followed by Dastan. Amar was seated on a pallet and was helping himself to a cup of fermented goat milk. Seso had chosen to stand a bit in the background so his face was in the shadows. He wanted to observe the Persian. There was definitely something familiar about him.

Sheikh Amar nodded toward a fur-covered pallet in a silent invitation. Dastan chose another one. He didn't want his back to the entry of the tent. He preferred to face potential danger.

This didn't escape Amar or Seso. The man in front of them definitely wasn't a simple merchant. His bearing was confident and the beautiful yet simple and efficient weapons he carried were of exceptional quality. He must be or at least have been of some social rank. His horse wasn't a cheap hack either.

"So tell me Persian. What do you want from me? I'm only a humble merchant…"

"I need to find certain people and I was told to look for you specifically, Sheikh Amar. It seems you're at the source of a very extended network of rumours…"

"Hmm… You certainly are a strange person, Persian. Most people are searching for facts, not rumours…"

"Most rumours are based on facts…"

"Let's suppose I agree. How do you want to compensate for whatever help I provide?"

Looking up and down the figure seated to his left he couldn't see anything of worth on the man except for his weapons and the magnificent horse waiting outside. Without a word, Dastan grabbed inside his sash and retrieved a leather purse. He let it fall on the table making sure its contents sounded. The eyes of the sheikh rounded…

"Is this…? May I take a look? After all I've to check the merchandise before I agree…"

At the nod from the prince he opened the pouch with trembling fingers. He lifted the purse letting the contents spill on the table… His eyes widened even more as he saw the golden coins shimmering in the light of the fireplace.

"I need information as to the numerous travels of the vizier called Nizam. It seems he has visited a specific place quite a number of times lately… I need to know where this place is and I will need supplies to get there…"

"What if I haven't what you demand?" The sheikh inquired.

"Then I'll look elsewhere…"

"Add the horse and we have a deal…"

"So be it." Dastan didn't like the idea of leaving Aksh in the hands of these desert rats, but he had no choice. "You'll get the gold and the horse if you provide me with what I asked for."

"Hmmm…" A brief nod of the sheikh and Dastan found himself with a very sharp knife at his throat. He raised both hands in surrender cursing his distracted mind.

Amar stood right in his face, eyes fuming.

"Tell me, Persian, do you think I'm a fool? That horse is the best known in the Persian Empire. It belongs to prince Garsiv. Knowing what sentence a horse thief faces I suppose you haven't been fool enough to steal it. So you must have some kind of relation to the prince to be allowed to ride his horse."

Pointing a finger to Dastan's vambraces he tipped it against a large piece of metal with a stylized lion on it.

"Who in the royal family is compared to the king of beasts? Prince Dastan…"

At the mention of his name Dastan felt the hold on him loosen and the knife no longer threatened his neck. Rubbing the sensitive skin he answered.

"Well, Sheikh Amar, seeing I'm no more stranger to you than you're to me… do we have a deal or not?

Rapidly nodding Amar shook the proffered hand.

"You're lucky. I can help you… Every week, there's a caravan passing through the valley where the vizier keeps a hunting ground. In two days some of my men will join it. You can accompany them…"

"I will…"

"As to the horse… We'll keep it well hidden, because if anyone sees it this place will be swarming with Persian soldiers like flies on a rotten mango."

Two days later in the evening, Dastan went to see Aksh who was now stabled in a large sand paddock. The stallion whinnied upon seeing him approach and came in his direction in a light canter, his coat shimmering like ebony silk in the setting sun. He stopped inches from Dastan's chest and let the prince pet his large shoulder. The horse lowered his head to sniff his pockets snorting from time to time.

"Ah! You have found it already?" Smiling he offered a large apple on his palm. Aksh bit a large chunk out of it as Dastan stroked his large forehead. The stallion stood rooted to the spot. This horse had always had a calming effect on him. Now he rested his forehead against the horse's drawing comfort from it.

"Don't worry, the sheikh will treat you well. If not, you know what to do. Garsiv taught you well…" The horse emitted a mumbling sound as if answering him.

Tomorrow he would take the next step on his journey. Where would it lead him?


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, this is a short one, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. Thank you very much to all the reviewers, those who follow and favorite, you're a great support in this desert...**

**Alamut, somewhere in the palace,**

_The stables!_ It was a part of the palace she didn't visit very often. It wasn't that she didn't like its inhabitants. In fact they'd always been a source of comfort when the burden of her duty grew too heavy crushing her beneath it. Nowadays she needed to look pristine under every circumstance being the liaison to the gods. She couldn't well appear in front of foreign dignitaries smelling like a stable-lad either. That was something that would fit perfectly for a Persian. After all didn't they pride themselves to be the finest horse breeders in this part of the world?

The shortest way to get down there was using one of the hidden passages. It would at the same time provide her cover. No need to explain her sudden disappearance from the Council. A sigh escaped her as she hurried down the narrow staircase. Why did this Persian have such power over her? Worse, get her into trouble with her own people? Her life had been quite simple before … before she'd crossed that clear gaze. Now closing her eyes she still could see those eyes in her mind.

A sudden anger sparked inside of her. _How dare he?_ Her feet accelerated with the raising emotions, making her stumble more than once on her way down. She didn't stop until she stood in front of the hidden door offering passage toward the back of the building that housed the stables. Standing at the edge of the stairwell she needed a moment to compose herself. Placing a steadying hand on the wall of stone she let the cold permeate her palm.

Carefully she opened the door slightly. She didn't want to be seen sneaking out of a hidden passage. All seemed to be quiet so she slipped into the hallway just as laughter could be heard nearby. Two male voices teasing each other were approaching. Quickly Tamina stumbled backwards, leaving the door slightly ajar to hear who was coming.

"Ah my brother, you should have seen your face!"

Tus couldn't keep himself from laughing again upon seeing his brother's sour expression.

"I turned to talk to you and suddenly there wasn't anybody in the saddle any more."

Garsiv clearly didn't like to be reminded of the day he had emptied his saddle, because of his little brothers' antics.

**Flashback**

It had been a very warm day; all three of them had spent the largest part of it hunting a lion. Now Tus and Garsiv were comfortably riding side-by-side discussing their failed attempts to capture it. Somehow during one of their attacks they'd become separated from Dastan. Having repeatedly proven his capacity to fend for himself neither one was worried about him, he'd probably join them just in time to elude another dressing down by their father for unbecoming conduct for a prince. Dastan had been adopted by the royal family, had accepted them as family, but he never truly submitted to the royal etiquette. The fact that he had no eye on the throne, made him interpret quite freely the rules imposed upon his rather indomitable character.

Tus and Garsiv were just rounding a group of bushes when a loud roar spooked their horses as a lion-shaped silhouette leapt at them. Tus' horse being more worn out; didn't react as violently as Garsiv's whose hand was quite hard on the reins. As a consequence, the animal reared and fell, throwing him off. As the dust settled a very displeased middle prince could be seen sitting on the ground. A loud laughter erupted from the silhouette as it changed form to reveal their little brother.

Tus was speechless and could only stare mouth agape at his two siblings…

Somehow Dastan had managed to kill the lion all by himself, as the bloody scratches on his body proved. He had taken the fur as a trophy and having lost his horse during the fight, he had to carry the pelt by himself. Hearing his approaching brethren, he couldn't help but play a trick upon them and how it had worked! Garsiv hadn't spoken to him for days…

**End flashback**

**Alamut, Stables**

"I still remember you sitting in the dust glaring at Dastan as he dropped the pelt… You didn't speak to him for like… a week?"

Tus shook his head in merriment his gaze following Garsiv stomping past him without a word. Tamina had heard everything and she had to stifle a laugh at the image her mind created of Garsiv.

"Wait… Where's Aksh?" Garsiv had arrived next to the box where the black stallion had been standing the day before only to discover it empty.

"What do you mean? He should be where you left him yesterday." Tus rapidly joined his brother's side.

"Dastan!" Garsiv ground out. His irritation was clearly visible on his face. "Again!"

"Where's prince Dastan?" came a voice from behind them. Both turned in unison Garsiv's hand immediately flying to the hilt of his sword.

"Are you afraid of a defenceless woman, prince Garsiv?" Tamina looked him over while turning around him to stand in front of the vacated box. Tus raised an eyebrow at the guts the petite woman showed. She more and more impressed him every day.

"No, princess, but a warrior always has to be prepared for the worst…" was the terse reply.

"Princess, if I may ask… What are you doing down here? Seeing you're not dressed to ride…"

With an annoyed huff Tamina turned toward Tus. "What do you know about Alamutian traditions? I could ask you the same question."

"We, he designed Garsiva and himself with a gesture of the hand. "We intended to go hunting for the day, but seeing as my brother's horse has disappeared … again…"

"As has your brother…"

The worried look exchanged by the brethren didn't escape Tamina.

"He could be resting in his chambers…"

"He isn't…"

Tamina didn't see the smirk on Garsiv's face as he shook his head in disbelief, but she noted the raised eyebrows on Tus' face. The look he gave her made her rethink her words and suddenly she felt very flustered. Stomping her foot, she lied, "I sent for him, but he wasn't there…" After all they wouldn't find out would they?

"Well for all we know he could be roaming the encampment with his footman…" Tus tried to deflect the tension. "Let us verify… Princess, please, lead the way…" he gestured toward the large wooden door. With a condescending nod Tamina agreed and walked to the door followed by the two princes.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Another short one, thank you for your patience. We're almost there...**

**Undefined location, **

The man sat unmoving, not even blinking. His eyes were unfocused or rather set on a world different from the one around him. He didn't notice the noises coming from the training space, didn't react to the touch of the snake rolling itself at his feet. His inner eye made him travel far and showed him past, present and even sometimes future.

Slowly a dense volute of white smoke rose from a small bowl set in his lap at the same time acrid and sickeningly sweet. Inhaling it opened the gates of the mind, freeing it from its mortal barriers. The Master had taught him how to interpret the signs in the airy white shapes.

… So Nizam had failed to achieve his goal… The King and his sons were safe… They would have to complete the mission the vizier had given them in case this happened. He had insisted on the fact that Sharaman and his offspring were to be eliminated and that the "urchin prince" had to pay for his mere existence… Even if Nizam was dead the deal was to be fulfilled and he would make sure it would be…

**Persian camp,**

"Bis!"

The roar made him flinch while throwing the dice. His opponent's smile grew wider as the dice rolled to a stop. With a triumphant look he drew the money toward him as Bis let out a sigh… So much for keeping his allowances this time… Briefly he wondered where Dastan had disappeared. When he'd woken early in the morning the bed had been empty and upon seeing his weapons and braces missing he'd known something was up. Dastan hadn't told him anything; the new Dastan didn't any more… He felt left out and out of place, so he'd decided to slip out of the palace and to mingle somewhat with his equals, the simple soldiers of Dastan's unit…

Unfortunately it seemed as if it was impossible to escape the attention of the princes. Grabbing his now empty purse he rose and turned to find himself nose to nose with the two elder princes and … the princess. Judging by the look in their eyes, they weren't exactly in a good mood and he couldn't help but wonder what he'd done now? He took two steps toward them before kneeling down.

"Princess, Sires?"

"Have you seen our brother Dastan?" Tus demanded.

_They didn't know either where he was?_ Bis' gaze flew up in astonishment. He could clearly see the worry etched on both men's faces. Noticing Garsiv's angry stare he quickly looked down again.

"I haven't seen him since yesterday evening…"

"Some footman you make!" Garsiv snorted. He didn't notice the irritated look the princess shot him, but Bis did. She didn't say anything though choosing to not mingle into the affairs of the Persians.

"He hasn't said anything about leaving the city. But if I may suggest?"

Tus nodded. "Go on."

"He's seemed very distracted and preoccupied since the battle for Alamut. Usually there's one place where he goes to clear his mind…" At that Tamina's gaze flew to the man kneeling in front of them.

"The rooftops…" Tus finished.

"Yes." Bis confirmed looking up again in time to see Garsiv blanch. _So he hadn't forgotten…_

"Stay here!" Tus ordered as both men and the Alamutian princess left the encampment on their horses and rode back towards the palace through the eastern city gate.

Bis couldn't help but notice that Garsiv wasn't riding his favourite mount. What was going on here?

**Alamut, palace…**

_Damn that princess… and Dastan… for developing such an idiotic behaviour to start with!_ Even as the thought crossed his mind, his foot caught on a small pebble and slid from under him. Arms flailing, he lost his balance and found himself seated rather unceremoniously on his back a choice of very colourful words escaping his lips… From somewhere behind him he could hear a snicker. Trust that princess to sneak behind him, if only to add to his embarrassment… _just like his little brother… Wait what?_ Surprised at the turn his thoughts had taken Garsiv turned towards her just in time to see her balancing on the rooftop too.

"Princess…"he hissed, "get inside! This is no place for a frail woman and surely not for a princess!"

Ignoring what she thought to be an insult, she continued slowly moving in his direction.

"Persian, this is my palace you are setting your feet on! So I demand you choose your words wisely or else you might regret it." With that she stomped past him towards the intricate wall protecting the workers from falling to their death as well as being an ornament to the palace.

"No one is up here!" Garsiv grunted joining her slowly on wobbly legs. Getting no reaction he turned towards her, carefully avoiding looking down. Tamina was staring at her beloved city below now bathing in full daylight.

Everything seemed so small and peaceful from up here somehow, things got into the right perspective again. Tamina felt overwhelmed at the beauty of what she saw. Houses carefully painted in white, the quarter where the drapers dwelt with its mutli-coloured basins. The market with its many tents housing every kind of goods was waiting for the possible customer. Farther away, on the road leading towards the mountains a caravan was approaching, metal ornaments glistening with each movement of the camels. Somehow she could understand why Dastan loved to live up here… No pressure, no etiquette to respect… one felt free, detached. She would never have thought to come up here, but to him it must have been a refuge… _a place where he was safe and could see enemies or danger approaching… like a wild animal… always ready to fight. Up on the rooftops, life was easier, safer… a haven._


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews. They fuel the Muse and hurry the updates. This is a more narrative chapter although… I'll let you read for yourselves.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when the caravan slowly started to move toward the end of the valley to leave through its western "gate". Voices could be heard shouting, dromedaries protesting loudly under their heavy loads as they rose to their feet.

Sheikh Amar had introduced Dastan to the men he would be travelling with and as promised he had provided him with supplies and adapted garb. Dastan had hidden his weapons and armour not wanting to attract unwanted attention. They were securely wrapped in the saddlebags of the dromedary he was leading. Of all the transportation methods this was by far his least favourite and he suspected the sheikh had a hand in it. He hadn't missed the smirk that crossed the man's face as they took leave.

The days passed slowly, punctuated by the numerous halts and rests that were necessary to secure the goods or simply to give animals and men a much needed reprieve from the arduous task to march in the deep shifting sand for hours on end.

Being accustomed to long strenuous travels with the Persian army Dastan had no difficulty in keeping up with the pace, he even found time to wander up the dunes from time to time to observe the wide plains of sand surrounding them. There had been an ever growing feeling of unease in his gut since they had left the very relative security of the Valley of the Slaves, but until now he hadn't seen anything suspicious. The other merchants had at first mocked him, but he sensed that they were getting nervous too…

As they sat round their campfire that evening one of them started to tell stories and the other men listened with gleaming eyes. Dastan had settled himself at some distance from the fire so his eyes remained accustomed to the darkness.

He observed the pale light of the moon as it flowed over the sand, giving the dunes an almost surreal silvery glow. It was late and the chill of the night made him wrap his woollen cloak tighter around his shoulders. The cool night breeze brought him snippets of the stories told around the fire. He distractedly caught a few words here and there his own mind being too absorbed by his own thoughts.

He missed his family, the stern, but caring look of his father, the constant jibs with his brethren, Bis' teasing about his lack of interest in young eligible women… With a sigh, he lay down and closed his eyes. In his mind floated a pair of beautiful dark eyes, long silky lashes shadowing them. He remembered their piercing searching gaze, almost as if they could unlock the gates of his soul to see the real him deep inside without his adopted title, the nickname given him for his prowess in battle …The man who had almost lost everything for a second time in his life. _Oh if Bis knew…_ Strangely he felt no discomfort, instead he felt … almost grateful … another sigh escaped his lips. Now wasn't the time to dwell on his feelings.

Some of his long strands of hair tickled his nose, bringing him back to the present.

"I swear it is true!" said the storyteller. "There's a place in these lands … a dark place. It is said to be the lair of seven demons … They ride out at night and leave only death in their wake… One of them wields whips with spikes and claws that strangle his victims and cuts them to pieces. Another one, Ghazab, has a double bladed halberd that he uses to cleave heads. The third one is going by the name of Gool, his giant scimitar slices through metal. The fourth throws orbs of fire that can't be extinguished. The fifth uses a trident and blades to kill. The sixth doesn't even have to come near his prey. He kills form a distance with poisonous spikes… and the last one, their leader is called…"

"Zolm, the master of the snakes…" A voice interrupted the storyteller and all gazes flew in the direction of the sound. Silence fell over the scene the fire suddenly crackling loudly. Some men laughed uncomfortably trying to ban the bad spirits the man had just summoned. Dastan had jumped up in an instant startling his companions by his intervention.

"Wait! The seven demons… Do you know more about them? Do you know where I can find them?"

The men looked at him in horror, scrambling away from him. Only Sheikh Amar's men didn't budge.

"I know nothing," the elderly merchant squeaked. Dastan could read the fear in the man's eyes, so he took a step back and turned toward his bedroll again. He wouldn't get any more information here. Those men were too scared to be of any help.

The night passed without further incident and the next sunrise found them well on their way. A heavy silence weighed on the men reinforced by the strong wind making it almost impossible to open the mouth without swallowing sand. It wasn't a sandstorm, not even the outskirts of one, but travelling in such conditions was disagreeable at least.

Dastan squinted as he observed the long caravan moving past him. He caught the disapproving looks of the men passing him by. They hadn't forgotten his pointed questions and probably felt he'd doomed them by asking about the demons.

He was sure the old man had been referring to the Hassansins. They were known for killing without mercy even going as far as to exert their art on innocent merchants from time to time. Usually they limited their appearances to fulfil contracts though. His companions were probably worrying without reason.

They had made good progress despite the bad conditions and set up camp in a small wadi for the night. Dastan had set his bedroll away from the rest of the men keeping his mehari close to him and his weapons within reach. His instinct had kept him on alert the whole day and he felt exhausted. His dromedary knelt behind him, offering warmth as he leant his back against it.

The beast was a beautiful one: taller, finer than those used as pack animals. He'd sworn to take good care of it and he usually kept his promises. Now it was peacefully ruminating the few extra dates he'd fed him as he let his gaze sweep over the landscape. He was about to doze off when he noticed something far in the distance.

_Movement!_ He quickly sat up, his hand flying to one of his scimitars as he squinted. He could distinguish three slender billowing sand dervishes moving to the east and yet not one single grain of sand was quivering where he sat. His thoughts flew to the night when Sheikh Amar's encampment had been attacked … _The Hassansins!_ His grip on the hilt tightened making his knuckles glow white, but soon the phenomenon disappeared from his sight.

He sat there for a long time, his eyes constantly searching the horizon for a threat, but nothing happened.

He half dozed off around dawn and would have slept in were it not for the not so soft grip on his shoulder shaking him awake. The caravan was almost ready to set off, so he quickly saddled his mount and sat up. It would be easier to travel on camel-back today with his lack of sleep and from his higher vantage point he'd be able to keep an eye on their surroundings.

The day promised to be really warm, judging by the waves of heat already rising from the sand at this early hour. They set out immediately to make the most of their day's march before the blazing sun would force them to stop for some rest during the hottest part of the day.

Dastan was lulled into lethargy by the swaying gait and the scorching heat. Despite his best efforts he couldn't keep his attention on his surroundings.

A sudden cry made him flinch and grab for his scimitars before he even had blinked his eyes into focus. There was commotion at the head of the long line of dromedaries, men were shouting, the animals were scattering in all directions and in the middle of it all he could distinguish dark figures moving swiftly.

The merchants were trying to defend their belongings and their lives, but they were no match for such well-trained soldiers.

Dastan hurriedly jumped of his mehari without making it kneel down, he didn't take time to reflect upon the pain shooting up his ankle as he leapt toward the struggling men.

In an instant he engaged in combat with a man wielding an enormous scimitar and handling it with astonishing dexterity. Dastan barely managed to parry the blow the man dealt landing on one knee with crossed swords. For a brief moment he saw something resembling astonishment flicker in the man's eyes before his grim expression took over again.

"You have nice weapons. Good quality. But you'll die nevertheless…" He growled.

"We'll see…" Dastan feigned and swiftly drew his blade to the Hassansin's side as he felt metal bite his upper arm. The pain made him let out a hiss. Anger had seeped into his moves and he had to force himself to calm down or else he'd commit more mistakes and pay them direly.

They crashed together, but neither managed to gain the upper hand. Suddenly Gool lunged toward the prince and forced him to take a step back making him stumble over a body lying on the ground behind him. He felt the blade enter his shoulder, the pain burning his nerve ends until everything faded to black…


	7. Chapter 7

**Outside of Alamut,**

A horse stood on a hillock not far from the city gates. It was chomping its bit as the rider kept a tight rein on it. From his vantage point he could see the slopes of the city with its white pinnacles gleaming in the rising sun.

The day promised to be a good one. His daily early morning patrol hadn't revealed any immediate danger to the city. The various outposts that had been set up after Khoshkhan's attack still were in place and well manned. They would remain that way to prevent any future menace to the Holy Temple.

His horse moved restlessly on the spot, stomping its hooves, rising billows of sand. A slight pressure of his calves made it jump forward first into a canter and then into a much faster gallop. The powerful muscles moving regularly under the saddle made his heart soar. This was one of the very rare moments he could enjoy without having to respect protocol or rituals, so he'd rapidly made a habit out of these morning rides always combining them with his duties as Head of the Temple Guard. He urged his mount to an even faster pace, the hooves barely touching the sand any more.

It was almost time to meet the king at the training pen to inspect the young horses that would soon join the ranks of the guard.

As the horse sped over the stone bridge leading toward the main gate, the guards gripped their spears before recognizing horse and rider. Rapidly they jumped to attention as the horse brushed past them without slowing down leaving them covered in dust.

Every year around the same period breeders from the region brought their best young horses to the city in hopes to get them accepted as future mounts for the guard. It was both a great honour and a blessing for the owners. As leader of the guard, Asoka had to decide which would be retained. He was assisted by the equerry of the Royal Stables of Alamut, a wise old man well aware of the requirements for such a mount.

As Asoka reined in his horse near the pen, he could see the disapproving look in the older man's eyes. The coat of his horse was gleaming with sweat and foam had gathered under the heavy ornate saddle pad. Usually he took great care to deliver his horse in a more decent shape, but today he'd been running late having pushed too far outside of the city and there simply was no disappointing the King, who'd graciously agreed to attend. In fact he could see the dignified man step out of the stables closely followed by his footman.

Asoka lost no time to dismount; he jumped out of the saddle handing the reins to a waiting groom. He bowed low in front of the King as a sign of respect that Sharaman acknowledged with a nod.

"It is an honour to have you partake, Your Highness."

"So tell me… Following which criteria do you choose your cavalry here in Alamut? I'm curious…"

Before Asoka could answer the question the equerry had stepped up and launched himself into a lengthy explanation that made the head of the guard sigh. The King smirked seeing his reaction even as he kept on listening.

The selection had made good progress and the King and Asoka were about to leave the pen, letting the equerry handle the breeders of the selected horses. They intended to inspect the progress made on the repairs to the outer wall and as it wasn't far from there they went on foot enjoying the freshness of the shadowed streets. A cloaked figure, barrelling into the King before Asoka or the footman could even react, rudely interrupted their discussion. A colourful string of expletives came from the figure now sitting at the King's feet. The three men stared speechless as they recognized the owner of the voice.

"Your Highness?" Asoka was baffled.

The figure instantly froze and a hand flew up to the hood pushing it back so she could see who had addressed her. As her gaze wandered from toe to tip she felt embarrassment colour her cheeks even as she tried to hide behind a stoic mask what was left of her dignity. Of all the men … What was it with that family that kept destabilizing her?

An amused smirk brushed the King's face as Asoka tried to help the unfortunate princess out of her predicament.

"King Sharaman. Might I have a word with you?" She asked while hastily dusting off her garments.

Sharaman kept his silence simply nodding at her and gesturing for her to lead the way. Being older he normally would have led the group, but as a sign of respect for the young princess he stepped back. Tamina walked briskly past the elder man. She was still trying to compose herself. She waited for the king to walk up to her side so they could talk more easily. Asoka kept his distance allowing the two leaders to talk more privately.

For quite some time Tamina and Sharaman walked alongside quietly. She was searching for an adequate way to ask about Dastan and the king was following his own train of thoughts.

He hadn't seen his youngest son since the day before and he was quite worried about his whereabouts. The discussion they had had about the Hassansin threat kept nagging him. Knowing his youngest was a man of action; he was convinced Dastan wouldn't let go. He would find a way to protect his family or die trying and that was what worried him most.

Years ago, when he'd decided to get rid of the Hassansin menace, he had done so to prevent the terror they spread in the whole Empire. It had cost numerous valuable lives, something that still weighed heavily on his conscience. His yearly retreat was partly a way of honouring their sacrifice.

How could a man face them all by himself and survive? The princess pulled him out of his musings. She'd stopped and turned towards him. He could see she too was preoccupied by something even if she hid it well.

"So…" Her voice trailed of and he raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue.

"Strategically it would make perfect sense to renew the alliance between our two kingdoms and cement it with a more concrete event such as a marriage. It would be an important support to a city state like Alamut, but what does Persia get out of this?"

The king nodded his assent, but kept silent so she pushed on. "What are your plans for my city sire? Have you planned for the prince to marry me so you could control its hallowed secrets? Have you instructed your son to pursue me?"

The king was taken aback by the boldness of her questions. Normally one wouldn't ask so directly about a potential ally's plan, but this princess had already shown him she wasn't common leader material. She was something else: fierce and feisty but above all very protective of her city and bound to her duty to a fault. He admired her for her personality; she would make a wonderful queen one day. Had he been a few years younger and not tied to a harem full of spouses, he would have pursued her for himself. The thought made him smirk, because he wasn't the only one in his family with similar thought if he had judged his son's reaction correctly.

"I must confess your bluntness is very refreshing." _Was that a slight blush that heated her cheeks? Delightful!_ "You're a very astute person, well versed in strategy and diplomacy. And indeed I've thought about a more intimate alliance between Alamut and Persia. As you may have noticed prince Dastan isn't very concerned about his own well being and marriage might calm him down somewhat giving him a new purpose, but having had the honor to meet the high priestess I think she wouldn't be easily convinced of such an alliance. As for the secrets hidden in the entrails of this city, rest assured I have no eye on them, neither has any of my sons." He smiled at Tamina's expression. She clearly wasn't accustomed to such direct speech even if she didn't hesitate to use it.

Resuming their walk silence spread once again between them while Tamina processed the king's words. He clearly hadn't sent the prince on a mission to pursue her. So why had Dastan left this token to her? Did he feel something for her? Impossible in such a short time! How brazen of him! Why had he left the city? Somehow the ring had found its way into her palm again. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that its owner was in grave danger, so she simply stopped, turned toward Sharaman and opened her palm to reveal the offensive object to the king. She carefully observed his reaction upon seeing it. The man had stopped in his tracks looking at it intently.

"How are you in possession of this?"

"It somehow ended up in my chambers… on my pillow," she hesitantly added. She bowed her head not wanting to see the disapproving look of the older man. A deep sigh made her look up hastily. The older man had turned to the outer wall of the battlement both hands now firmly resting on it. His look dwelled in the distance as emotions raged in his eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"So he's left … despite my orders. Young fool!"

Anger now marred the regal features.

"What are his plans?"

"Can't you imagine it, Tamina?" He turned towards her and she could see worry deeply etched in his eyes. "He's set out to fight a menace that has been haunting these lands for years bringing death and despair …"

"The Hassansins?"

"Yes."

"But he's alone?"

"It was his choice..."

"We need to follow him. Keep him from doing something stupid."

Sustaining her gaze he continued. "I'm afraid it's too late… I need to see my sons to prepare our journey back to Nasaf. War's ahead. Don't worry we'll leave sufficient troops here to protect this city."

He turned leaving her standing there still trying to process the words. She observed his retreating form. By the way his shoulders sagged he seemed to have aged instantly.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Please excuse my tardiness at updating this story. Here's a somewhat longer chapter to make up for the delay. I would be pleased to get feedback. ****Remember it feeds the Muse… Enjoy!**

**Somewhere in the desert,**

Cold… everywhere… It surrounded him, enveloped his body like a shroud. His muscles started to tremble to keep his temperature. _Where was he? What had happened?_ He attempted to move, but was immediately rewarded by a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder. A groan escaped his lips. Even as he tried to open his eyes a hand settled firmly on his good shoulder. Involuntarily he flinched, then tensed.

"You're safe. Calm down."

As he finally managed to open his eyes he could see night had fallen.

"How long have I been out?" He croaked.

"Since the attack… a few hours… You lost quite some blood…"

That reminded Dastan of the stab wound in his shoulder. He frowned as his hand moved toward the wound and his fingers encountered bandages.

"Your wound has been tended to. It was quite deep, so we had to sew it. Nothing major was touched. You won't be able to wield a sword for some time though."

With a sigh Dastan let his hand rest on his chest. So not the way he had expected his encounter with the Hassansins to end…

"Thank you."

"Couldn't well leave you bleeding, could I?" The mercenary said with a smirk. "Sheikh Amar would have cut my wages and Seso… well I guess I would have made close friends with his knives, so…"

Seeing the prince struggle to sit up, he extended his hand and the younger man eagerly grabbed it with his good hand. As he sat up the world tilted dangerously around him and he had to shut his eyes tightly to wait for the dizziness to pass.

"Easy. We won't get anywhere tonight, so no need to hurry."

He carefully studied the younger man and again he came to the same conclusion as earlier. That man definitely wasn't a merchant. By the way he handled himself and pain, he had seen more than one battle in his life.

Taking a deep breath to push the pain down, Dastan opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He had been resting on a bedroll. There was a small campfire not far away. Three merchants were huddled around it. They looked scared. No wonder. Their worst nightmares had materialized right in front of their eyes in the bright sunlight.

Dastan's eyes wandered over the remnants of their caravan. As far as he could see with the sparse light there were some dromedaries tied together not far from him. Bundles of discarded merchandise lay scattered around. No one had seemed in a hurry to get everything back together. They would have to though and as soon as possible before the heat and the desert could finish what the Hassansin's had started.

"How many?" The question was past his lips before he could stop himself. He knew by what he had seen, but he had to hear it spoken out loud to give it its finality.

"As you can see by yourself there are not many of us left. They did a thorough job. I wonder why they left us alive. Maybe they'll be back?"

"And mercifully kill us to spare us the suffering? No. The desert will take care of it for them." His voice was so hard and bitter that it surprised himself. Maybe he had just realized what his father had tried to tell him during their confrontation in Alamut. The Hassansins knew no pity, no remorse. They wouldn't be back and if the merchants wanted to survive they'd have to move before the sun was up again. Maybe they'd make it out of this hell, maybe…

He rose to his feet, carefully balancing out on his injured ankle. Amar's man offered a steadying hand. A thankful nod was exchanged between them, both understanding what was to be done.

It had taken quite some effort to get the men up and moving. At first they hadn't wanted to listen to him when he'd urged them to pack up to leave. In their eyes he was the cause for what had happened so why listen to him? With the help of Kazeem, the man Amar had set him up with and who had tended to his wounds, they managed to convince the reluctant merchants to follow their advice.

Now they were on the move after hastily leaving the graves of their fallen companions. They had marched on for hours in the deep sand and if the throbbing in Dastan's shoulder and ankle were any indication he would've to rest soon. The bandages probably needed to be rewrapped properly too.

Stopping to catch his breath, he looked up to the blue cloudless dome. The sun wasn't high yet and they could still travel for some time until the torrid heat would force them to stop, one way or another.

Slowly Dastan trudged on. He still could push himself some more. It wasn't the first time he had to march while injured and life had trained him well in the art of ignoring pain. So he gritted his teeth and limped on toward the next higher sand dune. He regularly checked their environment. They were roughly moving in the right direction. From experience he knew how deceiving the desert could be to the fatigued wanderer snaring him into the false security of moving directly toward his goal when in fact he moved in circles. He didn't notice the vigilant eyes of Kazeem following his every movement.

Kazeem had observed the increasing limp of the young man and had no doubt his steps would falter soon. When they left their unfortunate encampment he had offered him his mount as his own had been lost during battle, but the young fool had declined arguing that it would be put to better use charged with the merchandise and the rest of their water. Now he probably regretted his magnanimous move, but he did a good job hiding his discomfort from the other travellers.

**Meanwhile in Alamut,**

After the king had left to meet with his sons Tamina paced the protected walkway on the protective wall trying to figure out her next actions. So far she hadn't lifted the mystery of the ring Dastan had left her and it kept nagging her. Despite what everyone thought about the High Priestess, she wasn't a patient person, but her strict education had left her with quite an impressive dose of self-control. Right now she felt like she was boiling inside. Again she'd been relegated into the role of an observer, a passive female bystander in need of male protection. She hated the feeling! The more her thoughts churned the angrier she got. _They would listen to her!_ After all she had ruled her city without their help for years. Well the council had had a word or two to say, but essentially she'd guided the fate of her beloved Alamut by herself…

She would go to Sharaman's council and tell him what she thought about the Persian attitude toward women … Fists clenched he stopped pacing trying to regulate her breathing. She couldn't well storm in like a fury and expect to be taken seriously by men, she had to appear calm and poised.

She turned to find herself face to face with Asoka who was watching her warily. A slight blush coloured her cheeks. Belatedly she realized he had been there the whole time … had seen her behaviour … She thought she could discern amusement in his expression. It disappeared as quickly as it came. With an annoyed huff she stalked past him toward the palace.

The guards keeping the palace doors didn't so much as twitch as she passed them, even if they hadn't seen her leave. Who were they to question their leaders?

Out of breath Tamina stopped at the door leading to the throne room. She'd run here as fast as she could without raising questions as to her hurry. Gulping air one last time she pushed through to find Sharaman and his sons brooding over large maps. The creaking of the door had made their heads turn in her direction. King Sharaman raised an eyebrow while Garsiv shook his head trying to hide his annoyance while Tus looked positively surprised. Tamina was still trying to find her words as he invited her to join them at their table. He sent his father a pleading look silently asking him to concede him some leeway with his rather personal approach of diplomacy. A slight nod was all the encouragement he needed.

Extending his arm he advanced towards the still silent princess and as she accepted the proffered hand he led her to the maps spread all over the table.

"Princess, you've arrived just in time to join us. We were discussing how to get a hand on the elusive Hassansins." He looked her in the eyes and somehow to her the word was applicable to someone very different.

"And how o you plan on doing such a thing? Do you plan to march into their lair like you did into the High Temple? I suspect they won't be as easy to subdue as the people here in Alamut. As my people..." She added after a pause looking the King straight in the eye.

"Fear not, princess, as I said before, our army will protect your people." He stated. With a huff she turned toward the maps trying to locate anything familiar, but before she could get a decent look, Garsiv spoke up.

"This isn't something you need to worry about, princess." The look she shot him stopped him in his tracks.

"Prince Garsiv, I worry about a lot of things, especially since a certain army of camel-riders has rendered my city an easy target to foreign warlords." The verbal stab was direct and deserved, the King noted not without amusement.

"What prince Garsiv means is that we will keep your people safe so that Alamut can regain its equilibrium as a fortress."

"Will you proceed the same way as you did with prince Dastan?" Her gaze was defying, her chin held high. Sharaman couldn't help but admire her feistiness. "Protecting him by abandoning him to his fate?" Garsiv and Tus stood mouth agape. No one addressed the venerable leader of the Persian Empire this way and lived to tell it, but the annoying petite woman standing in front of them did. _What was she talking about?_ Both brethren looked toward their father waiting for him to explain the allusion.

"Princess Tamina, this is none of your business…" his voice was dangerously even and his sons knew it would be wise for the princess to retreat while she could.

"You Persians made it mine the day prince Dastan offered you the city of Alamut," her tone was rising she noted, not a good sign while negotiating. Never tip you opponent off about your feelings. She took a deep breath trying to get herself under control.

"Believe me if I could take back the events I would, but alas we can't turn back time or I would make sure Dastan couldn't take off for this harebrained plan of his." His gaze flew to his sons. They could see the pain in them. "But I am the King of an Empire and I can't fall apart even if I want to. I have to be strong for my people, just as you have to."

"Words. You could still decide to help prince Dastan." She spat. "What king abandons his people, what father his son if he can offer protection?" She had started pacing trying to get rid of the tension she felt. She was angry and at the same time she felt afraid. Who was she to confront such a deeply respected and revered man as King Sharaman? And above all why? After all her city was safe. They would see to it. They had promised so. And to thank them she called him a bad leader and a bad father…

"Don't you dare judge my decisions, princess!" Slowly his temper was rising. This woman was challenging him, making him look bad as a ruler and as a paternal figure. How dare she? The only one succeeding in doing so on a semi regular base was his youngest. And even him he could convince to take the wisest decisions, usually... With a sigh he turned his back to his sons. "Maybe Dastan was destined to do this… Why else would Ormazd have put him in our lives?"

_We make our own destiny princess…_

"What if we chose to make our own destiny, King Sharaman?" She quipped. _Where did those words come from? They sounded familiar to her, like she had heard them before._

Sharaman whirled around, eyes wide, face blanched, as if he'd seen a ghost. "What did you just say? You sound just like Dastan…"

Tamina felt overwhelmed as if the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. _She needed to get out here. Now! _She stormed past the king, all idea of decorum long forgotten. Her feet led her to her favourite thinking ground. The sacred garden. There she paced restlessly for quite some time.

_What was happening with her?_ She couldn't help but feel that there was more… a kind of reminiscence of deeds past, but that couldn't be, could it? How came she was regularly having moments, more like memories really of events that hadn't taken place? Not that she was aware of at least… True Dastan had told her about the time rewound, but had she really believed him? It was far more reassuring to ignore his words and to bury them deep inside.

"If you continue pacing back and forth long enough, you'll wear a trench into the garden. I doubt your gardeners will be happy about it."

She spun toward the sound. The voice came from an alcove covered in delicate roses. A small dagger had appeared in her hand. She had started to wear it after the fall of the city walls. One never knew…

"Easy… I'm no threat to you, princess…" A figure stepped out of the shadows, hands raised. Squinting Tamina recognized the silhouette of the princes' footman. She relaxed visibly.

"You're… "

"Bis, at your service, princess…" he bowed low as a sign of respect.

He hadn't expected to be disturbed here in the gardens, not at this hour, so he had chosen the pergola to take a well-deserved nap. After all he didn't have any business to attend to at the moment. His leader had ditched him again; he had lost his allowances at gambling… A sigh escaped his lips. When would he learn to keep to himself? Curious, he observed the princess. She seemed quite rattled. He was sure the prince has something to do with it, even if he wasn't in the city. Dastan always found or created trouble. Trouble must be his middle name. The thought made him smirk.

"Do you know where your master is?" The question interrupted his musings. "My master? I'm a free man, princess. I serve no one." He was quite offended at the idea. "You mean prince Dastan don't you?"

She nodded. "No. I haven't seen him for quite some time."

"Hasn't he told you…"

"About his plan to leave? No… I'm not his mother after all. He's a grown man, he does what he wants when he wants to…" His voice trailed off.

Was that irritation she heard? She wasn't alone with that feeling then. Maybe she could get some more information out of the man?

"Bis, have you noticed something strange about the prince recently?"

Bis studied the woman in font of him closely. She had noticed too? Deciding to take a leap of faith he drew her into the secluded space and started to tell her about the night of the raid. Tamina listened closely trying to determine what exactly had happened that night to make the Persian change his position toward the people of Alamut.


	9. Chapter 9

**Somewhere in the desert,**

During the last days they had trudged on and on, climbing sand dune after sand dune. The atmosphere between the merchants and Dastan hadn't gotten better, forcing him to keep a close eye on them. At night Kazeem and Dastan slept alternately to ensure their safety. After days the lack of sleep affected them both, making them more and more aggressive. They were weary and kept talks to a minimum to avoid confrontations. As their goal neared, Dastan was constantly thinking about his self-imposed task and Kazeem had started silently cursing Sheik Amar for imposing this quest on him.

The landscape was changing, announcing the proximity of the city of Avrat. Dastan had been there numerous times as a child and he could well remember the way the road sloped before revealing the vast plain the city was built on. Before long the dark outline of the oasis circling the city should appear as a bluish line on the horizon…

Dastan stopped, leaning more heavily on the saddle of the dromedary he had been walking alongside. His ankle was still throbbing mercilessly after a day's worth of walk and all he wanted was to take the weight off it, but it would have to wait some more. With a sigh he stepped forward, gritting his teeth.

Kazeem followed silently, by now he knew better than to suggest again the younger man mount the camel. Absentmindedly he rubbed his throat, he could still feel the cold of the steel against it. Worry kept nagging at his insides. He knew Dastan was up to something, something really dangerous judging by the reaction he'd shown to him simply trying to wake him to take his watch. Sleepiness had him almost cost his life… He'd never make the same mistake again…

The merchants followed them wordlessly. They might be wary of the two men, but they weren't fools. The fact they were still alive was sufficient proof to them that Kazeem and Dastan knew what they were doing. And if there was something that was precious to them it was their life. The small group kept walking through the deep sand, trying not to think about the road that was still ahead of them. They had to make the best of the little time that was left. Soon they would have to settle to get some rest when the sun reached its zenith.

**Later, Alamut, **

Bis's words didn't leave her mind for days. Instead of giving her peace they had given her even more food for her thinking. Even in sleep her thoughts churned making her turn and toss, entangling her limbs in the precious sheets. She saw herself being bound to a tent pole, felt panic rise in her chest at the sensation of the ropes tightening around her already chafed wrists. Then suddenly the scene morphed and she found herself in a tunnel of some sort, still bound, but this time she had been thrown on the packsaddle of a small donkey. The smell of the animal combined with various others made her jerk back and then she fell, her body drawn to the bottom of a dark pit. She instantly recognized the setting, above her loomed the dome of the Sandglass Chamber. Her body fell but time seemed to have slowed down. With a strange detachment her gaze wandered to the top of the crevice. Despite the distance, she could still distinguish the two figures fighting over the Dagger. Then came the impact simultaneously the blade pierced the glass…

She jerked up and found herself back in her room in the palace. Her breath came in short gasps and it took her some time to realize she was safe. Her gaze wandered over the familiar furniture of her chambers. The curtains billowed in the cool breeze of the night. Outside darkness still reigned. She shivered and rubbed her arms to fend of the chill. Her skin was damp with sweat. Looking down she noticed she'd shed the covers during her nightmare.

It had all felt so real, not dreamlike, more like the vague reminiscence of events long past… _Was it possible that Dastan had told her the truth after all?_ At the moment she hadn't really believed his tale, despite her education as a guardian.

She remembered well what happened when one turned back the constant flow of time. It was clearly stated in the writings. The World would come to an end. It was the will of the Gods. The Sands would be unleashed upon mankind to wipe out every trace of its mere existence…

_But was that true? Or was there more to it?_ She needed to know. _Why hadn't she thought about it earlier?_ Rapidly she got up, donned her mantle and slipped out of the room. Her feet swiftly took her to the High Temple, but instead of entering the Sky Chamber where the precious dagger was held, she turned to the right. In front of a small wooden door her steps faltered. _Was this right? How could she, the High Priestess, even doubt what the Eldest had taught her?_

Taking a deep breath she pushed open the heavy door. It was made of cedar and even after hundreds of years the precious oils it contained emanated from the pores. The strong odour had accompanied her through childhood, when she had crossed the threshold of the small room daily to study the holy writings.

Carefully she closed the door behind her. Then leaning her back against it she took in the space before her. The moonlight entered through the intricate mechrafiyeh bathing the scene in bright silvery light. The layers of dust covering every surface enhanced it. No one had entered this place since she'd completed her apprenticeship. The room was always closed up when a new High Priestess acceded to her throne and it remained that way until a crisis forced the current leader to access it or till a new apprentice needed to be taught.

Slowly she wandered around her right hand idly gliding over the books she had once studied every day. Memories of herself as a child flooded her mind. The scenes materialized before her eyes.

A deep sadness and at the same moment a feeling of comfort expanded in her heart. Giving herself a push she moved toward the small closet at the far end of the room. It contained the most ancient scripts of the Holy City of Alamut. As a child she hadn't been allowed to touch them. The knowledge they held was solely for the eyes of the Eldest of the Council and the current High Priestess, her.

Many times she'd tried to sneak a look at them only to be pushed away immediately and scolded severely or even punished by hours of imposed kneeling on the marble stairs of the temple. With a now trembling hand she opened the locket and grabbed the text roll she was looking for. She took it to an alcove and started reading as soon as she'd sat down.


	10. Chapter 10

**Avrat, citygate, guardtower,**

The day was coming to an end, _finally_… It hadn't been one of his most glorious ones. First his youngest had kept them up all night with its screams; then he'd woken up to the vociferations of his wife complaining about this lazy husband of hers. To top it off he'd been dressed down by his commanding officer for being late.

No, life hadn't definitely been easy for him today. Now all he had to do was to wait for the sun to set so he could order the gate to be closed for the night. Hopefully this one would be more peaceful. He would go home, see his wife and children and enjoy a nice meal with some of that sweet wine … He rubbed his large belly already envisioning the dishes that would be served, when something caught his eye in the distance…

_No, no, no …_ He envisioned the hour long controls of the merchants and their camels, their incessant arguing over the precious goods they were transporting and that were not to be damaged… but … something was off…

He turned to order the gate to be closed, but he couldn't utter the words … His second in command was looking at him expectantly. He couldn't do it … These were travellers that needed the shelter and the rest. Oh, he could understand that …

"Hold the gate! There is one more group of travellers coming in … "

If the men disapproved, they didn't show it. Everyone continued to work his usual tasks while waiting for the caravan to roll in. It took almost two hours before the first man stepped under the archway. The guards stopped in their tracks as they took in the poor state the merchant was in.

His face was crusted with sand and dirt and his skin was sunburnt where his garments left it apparent.

Appalled everyone made space for them to pass, forgotten were the mandatory checks every caravan had to go through before entering the city.

Nasir pushed past his men to reach the arrivals. His eyes darted from one man to the next, the caravan that had just arrived must have been waylaid… There wasn't much left of it. He counted five men and a handful of dromedaries. The few packages fixed to their saddles seemed wrapped with makeshift rope to hold them together. All of the men seemed exhausted. Their clothes were covered in dust and what resembled dried blood. All wore headscarves, leaving only the eyes apparent. He gestured for one of his men to take hold of the dromedaries' lead. Then he turned to the one who seemed in charge and bowed low …

"Would you allow me to guide you to our most famed caravanserai?" He looked up to gauge the reaction of his counterpart. When his eyes met clear blue ones, he froze. _Those eyes …_ As recognition hit, he started bowing again, but a slight headshake stopped him mid movement.

"Lead the way! We will follow you."

The merchants were too tired to put up an argument, so they simply fell in step with the three men. Soon the dromedaries were stabled with sufficient food to fill up their reserves and the merchants decided they would do the same. After all they had had a near death experience and survived to tell, not many could say the same. The main room of the caravanserai, that served as dining hall, resounded with loud voices and applause, the audience asking for more details of their adventurous travels and wine loosening tongues.

Dastan didn't feel like joining, too many things occupied his thoughts so he simply retired to the sleeping quarters. After verifying no one was near, he sat down his packages satisfied to hear the slight clanking sound of metal against metal. He carefully unwrapped them to verify the state his swords were in. Prolonged stays in the desert tended to get to the blade. Passing his fingers slowly over the cutting edge he couldn't feel any asperities. The metal hadn't suffered because of the abrasive sand. He quickly rewrapped them in the protective cloth Kazeem had put them in after the attack. Then he searched his satchel for some clean bandages for his shoulder and ankle. He would take care of his injuries before getting some much-deserved rest.

Sleep wouldn't come at first; restlessly he turned on the sleeping pallet, memories of the time turned back flooding his mind. The last time he'd seen the walls of this city had been when his father had died, poisoned by his treacherous brother his uncle … Nizam. The man was dead now, Tus had taken his life to save him, Dastan, the street urchin with no blood ties to him thus reinforcing the bond between the chosen brethren. Sharaman had been right, this was what made Persia strong, but then wasn't he always? With a sigh Dastan changed position on his bedroll. The comfort was scarce in these housings made for the travellers; still it was far beyond what one had to deal with in the open desert. Slowly his breathing evened out as his weariness caught up with him.

**Later, Holy city of Alamut,**

The light changed subtly from the silvery white of the Moon to the dull greyish tint of pre-dawn. Tamina still sat in the alcove next to the window, her eyes burned from the exertion. She rubbed them and decided to stop her reading for now. She needed to process the information she'd gathered, so she went to the Temple to start the ritual morning prayers. That way nobody would question her presence at this early hour. After all it wouldn't be the first time they would find her up here at the crack of dawn.

She didn't notice the silhouette standing in the shadows of the pillars as she passed them. The man frowned. Usually the princess was far more perceptive and little went unnoticed by her sharp gaze. He decided to keep an eye on her. There was something bothering the High Priestess and he knew from experience that she wouldn't step back from whatever she'd set her mind on. Not even with the altercation with King Sharaman the guards had reluctantly told him about after he'd cornered them.

He left his hiding place and went to the storage rooms. There was much work to do. As the King had ordered his men to prepare for the journey back to Nasaf he needed to supervise the preparations. Alamut had offered supplies, but they needed to be packed and sent to the Persian camp. This would take most of the next days, so it would be difficult to cut in some time to find out what the princess was up to. Not that he had a say in what she did. Asoka sighed. He'd have to be very careful. From their early days at the palace he remembered her to be a fast thinker, so she'd outsmart him effortlessly if she noticed his intentions.

Days passed and every night the princess resumed her travel to the small library. Asoka followed her and tried to figure out what she was up to. Something was happening, but he wasn't sure what it was. Her attitude toward the Persians had changed. She had slipped into the persona she used with most foreign dignitaries when trying to pass for a demure woman and that didn't bode well for what was to come…


End file.
